RPlog:A Ray of Hope
Leaning against a wall in the trading square, the Corellian keeps his eyes open, if hidden from the view of most. Not quite the shabby smelly creature that he was, a few souls actually toss coins and credits at him. He had heard that she was back in town ... in fact that she had arrived only last night. _Impecable timing_ he mused to himself, sipping a steaming cup of kallah. 'Course she always did. With everything. Sooner or later she was bound to pass him. This was her territory, and she liked to leave it well marked. The secondary sun has reached its apex and is descending toward the ground by the time a bent, shuffling creature in haggard rags drags his feet across Paul's line of sight, hobbling toward the safety and shelter of the wall. One of the coins that was tossed at Paul lies at his feet still and the creature scuttles toward it with a gleeful cackle. It's an easy shift of one foot to cover the prize from the intruder who would steal it from the Corellian. Penniless at the moment, the credits are actually appreciated and needed to get what little unspoiled food he can. Stuff routed out from a garbage heap and left him feverish and ill by the time he finally had approached the girl from Ullo's palace. He wasn't A hand curls around Paul's ankle and squeezes none too kindly, and in a searingly screechy voice the beggar demands, "Mine, mine...I saw, mine." "You saw, but I got," he replies with a low chuckle, voice a rougher version of his own. One bandaged hand waggles at the figure, revealing that he is at least humanoid. The tattered robes about him have hidden that much. "Move along my twin, we'll confuse the few kindly souls if we both take this corner." The hand wrapped about Paul's ankle slides upward and, in a far more sultry voice, and decidedly female, the beggar whispers, "My gods, Nighman, you need a bath." "I was offered a sponge one," he murmurs, "but the lady was an innocent, and my modest prevailed." Leaning forward so that she might see into his hood, Paul cocks his head murmuring, "Seems like you could use one yourself Xanthe ... it's about time you found me. You use those eyes better than you make them." The bedraggled creature stands and, turning her head to give Paul a glimpse of her feline- like amber eyes, whispers, "Only for you, Corellian," and crooks her finger. "Follow me." Rising up slowly, the two bedraggled creatures make off together, the one in the rear hobbling as he follows the other. "You always were a sweet talker," Paul murmurs following the waggling backside ahead of him and recalling other times he had followed it with interest. But this time it's business. "I need a job done if you can manage it ... on account ..." "Account, account, account. You owe me a king's ransom, you beggar." The voice beneath the hood is good-natured, punctuated with laughter, and rippling. "Come brush my coat for me and we shall see what I can do for you, hmm? And why in the name of the Goddess's twins are you dressed like that?" "What? I sent you a holocheck ... it's in the mail! Besides, you know I'm good for it. I'll brush you like no other Corellian can. You know I'm good for -that- at least." His head turns from side to side, ever wary as they make their way through the square. Lifting an arm to send dust flying from his clothes he mutters, "And what are you dissin' my clothes for? I thought you knew that it was the latest fashion on Tattooine ... I was about to compliment you on being so in touch after your long trip." Xanthe keeps her back curved and humped to disguise her true figure, shuffling in the sands while keeping upwind of her companion. "Yes, well, you always could make rags look like high fashion...and high fashion look like rags." Again that amusement. "Tell me about your business, my friend." "Not on the street," Paul rasps softly, "this is delicate, don't need all of Tat to know." He doesn't respond to the compliment ... two-sided like a sword blade as it is. Nodding in comprehension and concurrence, she pads along beside him, her inborn grace difficult to disguise. "Of course, of course...follow me." Hobbling due to either injury or intent, the human does a good job of disguising his form till they reach a familiar doorway. He waists, gesturing to his felinoid friend to precede him in. Fingers with sharpish talons glide across the door's deceptively complex lock before it opens and makes something of a racket opening. "So no one sneaks up on me," she explains winkingly before slipping inside. "We will be safe here, my friend." Sidling past her, Paul raises himself up to his full height with a soft groan of relief, murmuring "I hope you don't mind if I strip in your living room, but I'm stifled." The upper layers are dragged off and dropped by the doorway in a careful tidy heap, revealing more and the Corellian's lanky frame. His left arm is secured in a sling and wrapped with gauze. Another makeshift bandage crosses over his left temple. At his side is an impressively styled sword. "It isn't as though I've never seen you outside of your clothing, Paul," purrs Xanthe as she dispatches with her shoddier attire and stretches in an appropriately feline manner, her tail twitching briefly. then indicates the back room. "If you wish to wash off the grime, you know where my baths are located...and tell me, do, what happened to you?" Glancing over his shoulder, the Corellian grins at her comment. "It isn't that ... it's leaving the bundle of filth on your floor m'dear." He ambles back toward the baths, though he keeps his pants on and his sword in his grasp. "I've run into a little trouble, but it's probably best you don't know too much about it. Involves one of your "clients" and I wouldn't want you to have to have to indulge in any S&N ... smile and nod," he clarifies, "on my account." Xanthe shadows him and plucks the discarded clothing off the floor along the way, dropping them into a basket near the bathroom's entrance. "Your concern about compromising my integrity is touching but I can, as you well know, take care of myself. Who is she, by the way?" "She?" The Corellian peers back in confusion by the unexpected question. "The person ... creature," he amends with some distaste, "is -not- a she ... least, not last I heard anyway." The sword is hung up and the door partially closed for privacy as the rest of the garments are discarded, the sounds of water being run softly covering Paul's rough tenor. With a hollow laugh Xanthe corrects over the water's sounds, "No, the cause of your plight. It is, with you, always a female." "That transparent, am I?" he calls over the rush of water. "Or is it more than only you females are -capable- of making so much trouble for me?" There is a dull laugh that normally would have been richer, if it were not so tinged with weariness and worry. "I shoulda been a monk." She pushes the door open, draping her own soiled clothing on a rack while using the sink to scrub her tawny figure. "Without women, your life would be safer indeed. What can you tell me that won't compromise you?" Peeking from around the door, sandy hair now tousled and wet, Paul considers the Horansi evenly for a moment before murmuring , "I trust you, just don't want to compromise you." He disappears again and after a moment explains, "Probably one of your bigger contracts 'round here ... one Ullo the Hutt, has issues with my ... with my friend. I need some special lenses made ... some infrared lenses that are not easily detectable when worn. Xanthe nearly drops the specially crafted brush as she turns to stare at Paul, frankly astonished. "Ullo? Isn't he fairly far below your normal sphere of social activity, Nighman? And infrared lenses? What are you plan...no. Tell me not. What I do not know cannot harm me." There is a low groan of pleasure, the feel of water against his skin, the days of dirt and sweat being washed away bringing the Corellian unexpected relief. "Gods .... I suppose that would depend on which sphere - smuggling wise he's right up there with kings and queens." The sounds of water cut off, Paul holding for a moment to simply drip regretfully. His head emerges once again to see if there is a convenient towel within arms length. "As for knowing, that's what I figured would be best too." Ylsa is holding the towel, letting its plush terrycloth length dangle from one talon. She is, of course, beckoning him closer with her eyes. "You court disaster again, my friend. Were you to marry, I expect the name of your beloved would be Chaos. Are those new scars?" Out of the frying pan? Well out of the shower at least. Boldly stepping forward despite his nudity, the Corellian ambles over to the Horansi, taking the towel with a strangely crooked smile. "Already met that girl and tried that ... fortunately for me she was a double cross in disguise." He starts to rub at his hair, glancing down at his abused body. "Hmmmm, well the ones on the left side there are .... " and a more through examination has Paul thoughtfully pointing out a few others since they'd last met - a suspicious looking one across his wrist, a thin one along the back of his neck. There is an embarrassed shrug. "Guess I'm getting old, eh?" Xanthe draws her nails against his chest, impressive thing that it is, and nuzzles just under his throat. "No," she half-purrs before resuming her own brushing, "but perhaps careless. Your inventory should not increase, Paul. Do you want a razor?" Wrapping the towel securely about his waist, the Corellian takes a half step back from Xanthe's temptations, offering another crooked smile as he turns to examine his rough features for a moment. "Yeah, a razor would be much appreciated." _Let's just hope I don't accidentally slit my throat_ Xanthe rumbles a laugh low in her chest and rummages in her supplies for the razor, likely something he's left behind himself on another visit. Or, perhaps, someone else from her long and colorful past. "Tell me about what you need from me and how much it will cost me." "I aiming to spread my debts around," he murmurs low, taking the razor with an appreciative smile. Lathering up his features, he informs her between careful glides of the blade, "What I need from you are lenses - infrared - that won't effect my vision when I'm in a lighted space, but will allow me to see when the lights are out." The blade glides smoothly, carefully, despite the Corellian's tendency to get hurt. "Ah, and the trick is ... they have to look natural - no one should be able to tell I'm wearing them without looking carefully into my eyes." There is a another slow glide down his throat. "Can it be done?" he queries, uncertain if what he is asking for is even technically possible. But if anyone has it or could pull it off, Xanthe could. Ylsa steps into the shower and lets the water - exceptionally hot water at that - billow steam into the refresher and pound pleasurable warmth into her muscles. "You ask for a very rare thing, Paul. I can make them, I think, with the proper materials, but how much time will I have, hmm?" she calls over the sound of the shower, rubbing a special soap into the fur coating her supple frame. Xanthe steps into the shower and lets the water - exceptionally hot water at that - billow steam into the refresher and pound pleasurable warmth into her muscles. "You ask for a very rare thing, Paul. I can make them, I think, with the proper materials, but how much time will I have, hmm?" she calls over the sound of the shower, rubbing a special soap into the fur coating her supple frame. "As much time as it takes," he rumbles, finishing the work on his face and rinsing it off. There's a window of opportunity here, and the Corellian isn't going to waste it. Walking to a familiar closet, Paul grins to find it is still filled with various "momentos" from past lovers, including a decent, or perhaps indecent, number of clothes. Rummaging through them he is soon able to find what will at least fit him and put it on. Again, no point in playing with temptation or offering any of his own. "But of course what I mean is, as soon as possible." "I figured as much...and thus we return to what you want with Ullo and how much I don't want to know the answer to that." Xanthe scrubs herself industriously, mindless of Paul's alteration in presence. "My guess is a week, depending on how much work my assistant can take for me. I do have paying and potentially dangerous clientele." Biting his lip, Paul examines the burns on his arm, astonished at how well the salve is doing, before rewrapping the injured limb. His nerves are still shot from the blast, leaving the Corellian's left arm numb and unreliable. It is carefully slipped into it's sling, Paul's voice echoing with hopeful pressure, "A week?" Clearly that is too long to wait, despite what he told the Horansi earlier. The head pokes out of the shower. "So we're in a greater rush than you earlier projected, my friend?" Straightening the sling, Paul looks up, hazel eyes dark with worry and stress that manages to slip past his defenses. "Let's just say that if Ullo leaves town, which I'm sure he plans to do, and it happens before the job is finished, then all of your work will be for naught." He can't say what will happen to him. For a long cold moment Paul can't think of anything to say. Once off of Tattooine, his chances of finding Ylsa would vanish into hyperspace. Resuming her scrubbing, Xanthe projects, "I'll be very interested to see what you're after from our Huttese friend, Paul, and hoping it's worth the effort and risk. You'll have your lenses in three days. Fair enough?" A chair is found and slowly slumped into. The relief and fear war with each other, the Corellian surprised to find his heart racing uncomfortably in his chest. "Don't think you'll agree Xanthe, but it matters not. It's mine now and he can't have it." Paul concentrates on slowing his heart, strengthening limbs that suddenly don't want to hold him up any longer. Rising slowly he gets a glass of water. Dehydrating ... probably just dehydration. "I owe you big time for this one Xanthe ... you can name your price." The image of Jace's ship, a nice hole blown in it drags down on the Corellian. He is going to owe a good number of people a large amount. Xanthe's hands close atop Paul's shoulders as Xanthe nuzzles him again, though the decidedly sensuous ministrations are intended to be platonic. "If it means this much to you, Paul," she whispers in a purring slur, "then its retrieval is all I could ask for for payment." Muscles flex beneath her paws as the Corellian breathes deeply in and out, one hand reaching back to caress her furry cheek gratefully. "You're too good for me ... and I still owe you a significant favor then, you can cash it in when you need it." "Favors," purrs the Horansi female, "are worth their weight in platinum, as the saying goes, particularly from handsome Corellian scoundrels." She hesitates before further noting, "If you require anything else beyond the optics, I can offer that as well." "Flatterer," he teases lightly, turning to face the feliniod, brushing his knuckles down the soft ruff of fur at her throat. "I'm going to need to smuggle a few items off of a quarantined ship ... as well as get a ride off of this dust ball, but I think my credit limit with you is already pushing it's maximum here." A low rumbling laugh sounds from Xanthe's throat as her reaction to the gentle stroking is made evident in something resembling a purr. "You may be surprised, if Ullo is your enemy. I wouldn't mind seeing that reprobate taken down a few notches. Ah, you have magnificent hands, Nighman." Removing the one at her throat, Paul glances at it with a wry smile before slipping it casually into a pocket. "They work," he notes nonchalantly, "well, most of the time." He glances down at the bandaged arm, wiggling the fingers there tentatively to see if they will obey his commands. "Ullo is definitely not my friend, but I'm no fool ... you can't afford to make him an enemy as well Xanthe ... he probably pays well and often for your services." The Corellian's expression has sobered. He will not endanger any more of his old friends and contacts. And he won't let them do so on his behalf. What friend would? Shrugging and, in wry acceptance of what is only the truth, Xanthe nuzzles the bandaged arm and rubs her furred cheek across his temple and ear while whispering, "Ullo is very dangerous, my friend. Approach him with great care and, if you steal from him, run as fast and far as you can." She pauses, then, as she stretches and makes her way toward her brush, queries, "He's been in a rare mood of late: are you the cause of that too?" "Rare mood?" echoes the Corellian a touch nervously. "Perhaps ... could you be more specific?" While the young serving girl, Ilyana, assured him of Ylsa's well being, the potential that all might not be as well as she has painted lays heavily upon his mind. Xanthe settles on the edge of her bed, legs crossing comfortably as she brushes herself and stares at - and through - the opposite wall. "For weeks he's been cross, Paul, even for a Hutt. Blind furies at times. I hear it's better now but he seems on the brink of a tantrum at all times." Biting his lip unconsciously, Paul crosses over to the Horansi, gently taking the brush from her paws. Stoking it across the hard to reach back, since he did promise her a brushing, the Corellian kneels on the bed beside her. "Thanks for the tip," he murmurs uncertainly. "I'll make sure to be extra careful." Xanthe's back arches luxuriously as she commits to the splendid pleasure of this brushing; quietly, eyes flickering shut, she answers, "Do that. And I'll hope you all make it off Tattooine safely and never return." "Thanks," he repeats, making an effort to please her with firm passes of the brush. "Hopefully I won't have cause to come back again, tho' I'll miss your fuzzy face." His gaze unfocuses, already thinking upon how he will get in and get out with Ylsa in one piece ... and where they can possibly run to. All crucial is for his identity to remain unknown to the Hutt lord. Otherwise they will both be simply moving targets." Rumbled laughter flows out of her parted lips alongside the purring sound that conveys her appreciation for his brushing. During his more pensive moments she inserts, eyes rolling upward toward him, "I don't stay on Tattooine; you know that very well. Besides, if I don't see you again, how can I collect my payment, hmm?" Gaze flickering back to her muzzle, Paul's features break into a small wry smile. "Ahh, but I've been going kinda legit these days ... it's getting harder and harder to find me in the usual circles." For a moment he wonders what sort of payment she will require of him and when it will be requested. Favors are a dangerous coin to pay in, and considerable favors are even worse. "You imply that I would insist that the favor be something less than legitimate, Nighman?" Xanthe loves to laugh and here she exhibits her natural mirth with a twinkling glance at him. "I'm not quite as bad as all that, am I?" There is a light cough, his attention returned to his hands as he brushes down the sleek pelt. "No no, just that we may not meet as often as we had in the past, that's all," he assures her hurriedly. She turns toward him and pierces his gaze with those penetratingly intent feline irises, hands wrapping about his features to draw his face near. "You're too tense, Paul. I don't know what is troubling you, but let it go. For now, you're safe and with someone who cares." There is a small tremor, the Corellian meeting her green cat gaze as she holds him still. "I'm about to storm Ullo's palace, break into his private sanctum, and steal something he is very possessive of ... and you tell me to relax?" His voice is dry and wry, a lopsided smile curling his lips. "It's all that stretching that you Horansi do, isn't it? Naturally limber and relaxed." As she regains her feet with a whisper of silken fur against the furniture, Xanthe counters lightly, "That's precisely what I'm telling you, because you must be assured, relaxed, confident, comfortable. And prepared. Shall I help unwind you?" Raising one brow speculatively, Paul murmurs, "Ahhh, okay ... what did you have in mind?" Xanthe gestures toward her bed and, with a mischievous smile, commands him, "Lie down, Corellian." Eyeing her suspiciously for a moment, Paul finally obeys the Horansi, settling down on the bed gingerly, removing his arm from its sling and supporting it with one of the multitude of pillows available. His eyes close, a deep breath taken in preparation for release and relaxation. "Okay ... now what?" he queries into the bedding beneath him. Ylsa straddles the compact musculature that is Paul's well-shaped backside, settles on his hips, and begins to rub her fingers into his back. Her touch is a miraculous, effective alteration of strength and gentility, evoking a need for sinews and joints and tendons to resettle into place. As she massages she whispers purringly, "Think of your plan, Paul, visualize your entry, picture your route, imagine your exit. Plan, consider, then plan again...ssshhhh....eliminate everything from your mind any obstacles until success is the only potential outcome." Eyes flutter open and then closed again, deep breaths punctuating his release of tension as in envisions entering under Ilyana's guidance past guards and security, finding Ylsa and explaining to her their plan while waiting for Ilyana to dispose of the lights ... a few well placed explosions perhaps to slow things up, and then up, out, and off planet. Speed and timing will be essential.....aaaahhhhhhhhh! There is a corresponding groan of relief as she presses an unrealized slipped disc back into place. Smiling at the release of tension both emotional and physical, Xanthe does not relent and, as her skilled fingers march upward again, using his spine as the focal point for the route, she says too close to his ear, "And again. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale...your route in, your plan, your escape, think of the obstacles, imagine their elimination, plot, plan..." Lists are formed, escape routes plotted, obstacles predicted and eliminated. All the while the Corellian's body grows lax and heavy beneath Xanthe's ministrations. Mumbling low and deep, Paul praises, "You have the most amazing paws ... guess I owe you two favors now." "Perhaps...." Xanthe begins massaging his scalp now, her voice lulling and light and low. "Now let the tensions and worries and focus float away on gossamer wings, Paul...there is nothing in your mind but the softness of your mood, the clear water of your tranquillity. Think of nothing, relax...and let your body mend." Soft. Her hands are soft, her pelt is soft, the sheets and pillows about him are soft. For the first time since he and Ylsa had landed upon Tattooine does the Corellian feel safe and secure. The lack of sleep, the endless searching receives Xanthe's tender touch as a much needed balm. There is another soft sigh, the thought that she could so easily kill him, betray him, hurt him now crossing his mind but holding no weight or fear. A weight, heavier than a similar-sized human female, lays against his side as her body winds about him to offer its warmth and comfort, and as she whispers sweetness in his ear, her fingers draw lazy patterns in his hair. She is there for him and, for now, she is going nowhere. A Ray of Hope